Everything and Nothing
by Lyra Pendragon
Summary: They say he's charming and good--just like his father. What if he doesn't want to be like his father, though? Will he go to any lengths to be different? Rating for later violence and mild language. r&r plz!


**EVERYTHING AND NOTHING**

_Disclaimer: All Harry Potter content belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me....blah blah blah._

_A/N:This is the story that I've been thinking about for a while. I don't know how long it will be. It probably won't be as long as The Time Turner, but it's not going to be all that short either._

**CHAPTER ONE: ANOTHER SUMMER**

Thomas Potter had everything and nothing.

He was rich. He was handsome. He was smart. He was a prefect at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had friends. He had a beautiful girlfriend. What more could a boy of sixteen want? Not much, was the answer, but what he did want, he'd found, would never be his. He had everything that he didn't want, and nothing that he wanted. He was as poor as that homeless man that he'd seen in Hogsmeade last month. Just as poor, only not in the same way.

This was where Thomas' thoughts were taking him on that wet day when the train would be taking him home. He could be seen in a crowded compartment, talking to a few boys who he didn't care about in the least, while his girlfriend, Peyton, dozed with her head on his lap. They were all chatting about the Quidditch World Cup, arguing about who they all thought would be the victor. There were also two girls in the compartment, gossiping, which was the usual ritual.

They were friends of Peyton. Thomas honestly didn't know how the girl could stand them. She didn't act like them (or talk nearly as much as they did). In fact, as far as Thomas knew, Peyton wasn't a thing like the other girls who constantly drooled over this particular group of boys. But then, she already had one of them, so she needn't worry about drooling over them.

One of the boys, Adam, was saying his name and Thomas immediately snapped out of his trance. Adam cast him an unnerved glare before asking him which team he thought would win the World Cup.

"I don't know." And that was that. Perhaps the reason why Thomas wasn't quite so excited about returning home was the same reason why everyone else /was/ excited. Family. For Thomas' father was Harry James Potter. The most acclaimed wizard in the world.

Thought of as the most powerful wizard of all time by many. Head Auror at the Ministry of Magic. Director in the Department of Mysteries. Destroyer of Voldemort. Three Order of Merlins, First Class, and a few various other awards. And to top it all off, Harry Potter was the personal assistant to the Minister of Magic himself.

Yes, Thomas' father was the great Harry bloody Potter. How simply splendid.

Thomas sighed inwardly and stared out at the rolling hills that passed the windows. A sort of empty mist blanketed some of the higher hills. Protecting them. Thomas was jealous of those hills.

Thomas' first name was taken from the Dark Lord himself. His mother had told him that Harry (never "Father" or "Dad," just "Harry") had regretted killing such a wizard as Voldemort. So he had named his only son after the man. What a disgusting name. And worse, it was Thomas' name.

Thomas caught himself before he went too far with the rude feelings. His emotions at any time might trigger a release for that weird voice that had been floating around his head for the last few months. He didn't want that. The voice scared him, a bit. At first it had only been a word or two. A few mutterings here and there. He didn't even know they were there at first. Then one day he heard it–barely enough to notice that it was there, but it was enough. He couldn't control when the voice came and went. Slowly and steadily, it became louder. It started talking in real sentences. It was a very hateful voice, silky smooth and angry. It spoke of things that he thought no one spoke of anymore. It mentioned Salazar Slytherin once or twice, but more so it spoke of the Dark Arts and revenge on someone who had hurt it.

Thomas still assumed that it might be a part of his own mind, his own hatred and hunger for revenge on Harry. But then he began to notice that if in a good mood the voice would go away, that or be reduced to a slow and quiet murmur in the back of his mind. It resurfaced when Thomas' anger flared, or his resentment for Harry was brought back to his knowledge.

Usually these were times when Peyton was gone. If she went off to Hogsmeade without him, to spend a day with her girlfriends. If she had to stay at Quidditch practice late. If she stayed in Transfiguration after class to get a few more precious pointers on her favorite subject. Those times, when Thomas was alone. Those were the times that his hate and dread and sadness were recalled to him to ponder upon. Those were the times when the cage that his mind had created for the voice broke.

Once it had actually spoke to him and he had been so terrified that it had swiftly gone away.  
That was two weeks ago. Since then he'd paid close attention to his emotions. Every time he thought of something that might lead to sour emotions he tried to call his memory to something more pleasant.

Still on the verge of crudeness, Thomas thought of something good about going home. Immediately his sister's face was called to his attention. Molly. Her name had been taken from their grandmother, Molly Weasley. Their mother always said that Molly looked like any other Weasley, so the name fit. Red, curly hair that swirled around a round and freckled face with large hazel eyes. The hazel eyes must have come from Harry's side of the family. Ginny's family all had brown eyes, like Thomas' eyes. But other than the eyes, a somewhat similar nose, and a slightly skinny look, Molly was a pure Weasley. She was the perfect little six-year-old–or was that seven-year-old? Thomas couldn't remember, but that wasn't really the point. Calling up the girl's face had cleared his mind.

Thomas severely wished that he, like his sister, looked more like a Weasley than a Potter. But that was another thing that he couldn't control. His hair was black–neater, though he couldn't see how that was much of an accomplishment since Harry rarely seemed to groom himself anyway–and his physique was tall and thin, like Harry's own. Thomas' face was thin, even if his features were a bit more clean-cut and handsome, and his nose, though sprinkled with a few barely-there freckles, was quite the same. His eyes were brown, and large like Harry's, but thankfully he didn't wear glasses. All of the stories that Thomas had heard of his father and all the time he'd wondered how Harry had kept his glasses intact.

Thomas didn't really mind looking like Harry. After all, he wasn't a human replica like Harry had been of /his/ father. What really bugged Thomas was how everyone said he was just like the man. Brave and good and proud. That was what really bothered him. That was why he had never gotten on the Quidditch team. He knew that he could have gotten on it. He might have been seeker. But it was just one more difference between himself and his father. One more thing that nobody could evaluate and say, "I remember when your father did that, Tom. Isn't he proud?"

Thomas woke up when Peyton's head left his lap. She was sitting up, adjusting her hair to make it neat as it had been before. He'd always wondered how she could do that. Keeping her hair neat when it was a scant inch from her waist. It curled a bit on the bottom, but other than that her hair was as straight as his.

The train was stopping and everyone in the compartment was standing up, collecting their things. Thomas' stomach squirmed. He didn't want to get off. Peyton looked at him briefly with brownish hazel eyes, seeming to know what was going on in his head. She smiled and squeezed his hand before standing and stretching, straightening her Muggle skirt then pulling her trunk out from under a seat.

She looked back at him, laughed, and said, "You've already asked if you can stay on the train all summer, and the answer was no–come on, Tom." Thomas smiled slightly and stood up. This would be a long summer yet.

Of course, he pondered as he shuffled miserably off the train with Peyton, he wouldn't be at home all summer. He would see his friends during the summer, of course. He would see Peyton. He could take Molly to Diagon Alley for a day, get her a new hat (something she'd been asking for her birthday.

He could just forget about his father, or at least ignore the man.

Ha. Forgetting would be bliss. Ignoring was impossible.

People were hurrying around him, kissing their children, looking for their parents. Peyton immediately found her own parents. They were kind people. In any case, Thomas liked them much more than he liked his own parents. Or at least more than Harry.

Ginny was okay. She was a good mother. Distant and polite, just as Thomas himself was. Thomas didn't exactly like his mother, but he still loved her.

As soon as Thomas finished greeting the Croft parents he spotted not his mother, but (and his stomach sunk at this) Harry. The man looked extremely uncomfortable under a few uncovered stares, holding onto the hand of his young daughter and looking around for his only son.

Thomas scowled, turning to Peyton and kissing her with a goodbye, before heading off in the direction of his untidy legend of a father.

Molly saw Thomas first and started jumping up and down, dragging her father's hand with her as she did so. Her newly cut hair bounced as she raced toward her brother and rammed into his knees. Thomas put down his trunk and picked her up, glancing at Harry who had stayed behind. He kissed the girl's cheeks then set her down.

She looked a long way up at him. "Hi, Tommy." She said, grinning a dimpled grin. She was the only one who called him Tommy. From anyone else the nickname would have caused a severe annoyance. He supposed that he couldn't very well be annoyed if a little girl no older than ten called him cute baby names.

"Hello." He said.

She twirled baby curls between her pudgy fingers. The curls were a few inches shorter than they had been last time he'd seen her. "Do I look any different?"

"Yes, Molly, you've gotten a haircut. It's very pretty." Thomas grinned as if to prove his point.He then grabbed the handle of his trunk and began pulling it toward his father and a summer that he hated to think of.

_A/N: Yeah, I know, a bit short, and I'm sorry. I'll do my best to lengthen up the chapters later, k?_


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